


Time

by Satan (CherryBones)



Series: Immortals [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Theoretically this could be G for General but it is the Fake AH Crew and ya know, in that it's completely unedited from the first draft, probably safer this way, this is very similar to the first of this series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryBones/pseuds/Satan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ageless man marks his skin to remember the passage of time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

The day after they choose to celebrate his birth, Ryan wanders into one of the many tattoo parlors that litter Los Santos and very politely tells the young man behind the counter that he wants to employ their services. The artist he is assigned gives a smile, sweet and bright and he realizes that to them it must look like this is his first time ever stepping into a parlor. He tries not to revel in the way this changes when he tugs off his jacket and shirt to show them the bare patch of skin on his side, revealing his flesh to be littered with the marks of different needles and different inks, some a millennia old, though they have no need of knowing that. They admire his markings and nod as he explains precisely what he wants them to press into his skin. He settles in the chair and calmly watches them prepare their machine, musing back to a time when the best that humans had was a heated needle and whatever permanent material could be found. Times when, occasionally, it was just a knife wound with soot and ash smeared into it. Simpler times, he thinks to himself. The buzzing of the machine starts and he shuts his eyes, thinking to times long past and to the marks that litter his skin.

He thinks he started marking his flesh to remember. The same way he to this day keeps trinkets and writes as much as he can in journals. There are marks that he does not know the story behind anymore all the same, so he thinks that maybe it doesn’t work as well. He still gets them though, tradition burnt into his bones after so many timeless years.

There are ones he does remember, mostly small, some large. Little ones for little events or so there's always more room, larger for events he thinks will alter the world or himself. There are fires licking up his leg to remind him of Rome, a patch of necrotic skin on the underside of his arm to memorialize the friends and others lost when the Plague tore through his then home and once again left him alone, a stylized compass on his hip for the discovery of the country he now calls home. An arrowhead edging up against his heart for the loved ones lost as that country grew and forced them out. A twisted and cracked crown just below the connection of his hand so he would never forget the consequences of too much pride. A dagger tangled in thorns and dripping with blood against his thigh to remind him what happened when he lost himself. So many memories and lessons marked into flesh so he would remember as best he could.

A cloth brushes over his skin to wipe away excess ink, bringing him out of the past and into the now as his artist comments on how calm he’s being, how they’d had even people with numerous tattoos flinch with pain now and again. He shrugs vaguely, saying something about having felt worse than a needle. And wasn’t that the truth. The artist hums and lapses into silence once more, allowing him to fall back into his thoughts and out of the waves of time.

Time is a vague concept to Ryan after so long. He glances down at one of his newer tattoos, a simple script from a long forgotten language wrapping around his upper forearm, one of the many tattoos that he himself had punctured into his skin, reminding him not to slip too far from it again, lest his life now become one of those memories he wishes would fade, memories of forgetting that others didn’t have the time he had, that years were something of importance to those who aged. Far too memories of promises missed by decades that he wasn’t aware had passed, of so many times that he thought he had more time, allowed himself to be distracted and drawn away and by the time he remembered, it was too late. Hot tears wiped away by fragile wrinkled hands that had been young and strong the last time he’d seen them, the last time he’d promised that he would be ‘just a year or two’. Words that vibrated like whispers from throats that used to be able to shout and scream, forgiving him. Hearts that had long since accepted what he seemed to be be incapable of doing, the fact that he would always be too late if he let himself slip away. He swore that this time he wouldn’t forget, that he would always be there on time for the crew. He digs his fingers into those words when he starts to get distracted, when he finds himself walking out of town with no memory of how he got there. When he starts to let the laughter and the smiles fade despite all that they mean to him. They don’t deserve it, none of the people in the past did either, but he would be certain this time. He would always be there for them.

Soon enough the artist is bandaging up his side and he pays them, overpaying like he always does for these little permanent memories. He walks home, always walks if he isn’t in a hurry. He’s walked across the world, a few miles makes no difference to him. By the time he gets home the tattoo has healed over, the ink as bright and vibrant as it will be for the rest of his eternity. He removes the bandages fully, running his fingers over the script. Names, neat and even like a page, each a different style and a different color. Names he never wants to forget. Names he will die for, over and over again.

His mind drifts to the night before, such a strange night peppered with chaos and laughter and quiet moments. He hasn’t thought about his birth in such a long time. It was never something he celebrated, his grip on time too loose for it to matter. Besides, he can’t remember the last time anyone asked. Most of the crew remember the dates of their own, for whatever they are worth. Gavin remembers the season of his and so they celebrate on the day he has chosen for himself. But Ryan remembers nothing, not even the season. He doesn’t remember if it was ever something people celebrated when he was alive. And what’s the point? They’ll be alive for eternity and they will be the same for eternity. What does a birthday matter when they’re only used to mark the years? But the crew insisted, and so he let them decide. They chose the day he officially joined the crew, claimed that it was the day he was ‘reborn’ into their family. He laughs as he remembers the smiles on their faces when they said that. And so when the day came they took him out on the town, adventures and idiocy and affection mixing into a night he both remembers too much of and doesn’t. And at the end of it all, sitting in the quiet as the rest drifted off on the couches around him, his eyes fell to the colors and designs on Geoff’s arms, the twist in his stomach flaring up as he thought about what Geoff would think of those seemingly meaningless tattoos in a millennia. If he would regret them. Geoff was still so young, still within his first thousand years, his eyes still bright with the concept of immortality ahead of him. Geoff knew so little, despite acting like he knew it all. So he swallowed thickly, and he asked.

And his worries were soothed. Geoff, more than a little drunk, smiled and gently ran his fingers across the designs on his knuckles, sleepy eyes falling to Ryan’s own designs. Then he started to talk, started to explain the stories behind each and every one until he was too tired to be able to. When he finally fell asleep, halfway through a tale, Ryan carefully extracted himself from the rest and stepped out, making his way to the roof to look at the city before him. Geoff, even so young, Geoff understood what the permanence would mean. Ryan should never have doubted. They were all so amazing, so smart for their youth.

So now he smiles at the names, tracing each and admiring them. No, he wouldn’t forget. He could never forget them. For as long as they needed him, he would be there. Time wouldn’t slip him by again.

He wouldn’t allow it.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of doing things I should be doing and/or writing for other stuff. I regret nothing aside from the possibility that it doesn't make any sense because I'm super tired right now.


End file.
